Unrequited
by Unrequited
Summary: There's no set time for this one, but the more you've seen, the better. Roger reflects on Dorothy's unusual habits. Calling all reviewers, please mention your idea of an ending
1. Unfair

UNFAIR

Even if I couldn't imagine her reactions, it's all too easy to imagine acting on my impulses.  Pulling her close enough to feel how fast my heart beats for her, only to bend down until we were face to face, leaning in; and then she ducks away.  Afraid of being loved as Dorothy Wayneright and not R. Dorothy, longing for that which she has refused herself, her dreams.

                                                                        ~

            "Dorothy, does it ever bother you to be so perfect around people who make mistakes?"  Roger asked, casually slouched on his receiving room's couch.

            "No."  She replied passively, moving on towards the next knick-knack to be dusted.

            "Does _anything_ bother you?"  A man as rash as Roger found it strange that anyone could be so devoid of revenge-lust or even passion over important matters.

            "I suppose something is bothering you then." she quipped, sensing the direction of the conversation.

            "No, well, I guess not…  I, I just think it's strange that someone who insists on being human-like never reacts like a _normal_ person would."

"You're so careless and giving when it comes to your snide remarks and cruel comments.  But you hide and bury away your feelings, what needs to be said, Roger Smith."  Never facing him, Dorothy walked out of the room to find another chore.  

Roger pondered over what she said, but couldn't help wandering back to earlier in the afternoon.  

                                                            ~

Things had gone like clockwork, Dorothy's daily one-person orchestra, the dull good-bye and the standard job.   It had been a simple visit to an elderly home facing demolition from a small company of the Rosewater's.  The case was easy compared to those previous, so he calmly cruised homeward until he spotted Dorothy.  She was walking into a small grocery doing assuredly little out of the ordinary.  All the same, Roger pulled over and watched through the store windows as she plucked items off the shelves.  He felt strange watching her in his own home because she would know he was watching; in a crowd she'd never know the difference.  So he leaned against the Griffon, sliding his sunglasses just a little bit lower on his nose.

Inside, Dorothy found all the requested objects with ease, having long ago memorized the store's layout.  A girl looking slightly younger than she accidentally knocked something over, causing everything on that shelf to painfully slide and slip off.  Without hesitation, smile or sigh, Dorothy walked over to the shelf, straightened it and started to reassemble the product line.  When the task was finished, both the cashier and the girl looked distraught, but Dorothy simply walked up to the counter with nothing said about it.  

Roger had been gaping at the scene, not for it's overall strangeness, but the fact that Dorothy hadn't blinked once.  Roger himself had flinched every time a new item fell to the floor.  

Completely unfazed by the fact that Roger was standing there, Dorothy walked up to him.  "Hello Roger."

                                                            ~

Having replayed the memory enough times, Roger got up in search of Dorothy.  

How many other times had something out of the ordinary happened while Dorothy stood by uncaring?  Roger halted halfway down the spiral staircase—What about the opposite; how many times had Dorothy had a reaction to something?  When was the last time she was upset?  Hadn't she actually _screamed_ his name?  When was the last time she seemed sad?  Hadn't she _begged_ him to save her kitten?  It wasn't too long ago that he had managed to hurt her feelings.  He remembered all of those times in a flood now.  A fast slide show of her faces which had even for a moment replaced her mask.  

Has she already learned how to be human?  Perhaps she feels the mask is still necessary.  But for what is it needed?  With her mechanical movements and disconcerting eyes she can't truly pretend to be human.  But if she really is hiding her newfound humanity, why is she acting like a _completely_ soulless android?

--bury away your feelings, what needs to be said—

Haven't I been asking the right questions?  

--I suppose something is bothering _you_ then—

Yes, something is…

--like a _normal_ person would—

Am I normal enough to say that?  When the words of an android haunt me?

--I love you—

That's what bothers me…

--what needs to be said, Roger Smith—

Did she need to say it?  To taunt and scare me with her seriousness in three words that rolled off her tongue like an avalanche that will never leave mine to reach her ears.  Were those her buried away feelings?  What needed to be said, even if I'm not sure it was really Dorothy who said it?  How could I be sure?  After all, I have no idea what Beck's device was capable of…  Maybe my ignorance is nothing but feigned, wishful thinking, and deep down I really know that she would never say that, especially to me.

He slumped down on the staircase wrapping his arms around the back of his head and bringing his knees toward his chest.  

Human beings live towards finding happiness in other people.  And when they are sure they've found that happiness they give small signs, hoping to be clear only to that one person.  I've been getting nothing but mixed signals and now I can only give those back.   

What was or is stopping me from telling her?  It's common knowledge that most people hide their feelings out of fear of how others might react to them.  But could I even guess what she would do or say in return?  As methodical as she is, she is nowhere near predictable.  If I hugged her would she push me away, return the embrace, or stand there and think nothing of it?  If I kissed her would she turn away, or could she possibly kiss me back?  Would she even know how if she wanted to?  What could possibly happen if I told her that I…

Even if I couldn't imagine her reactions, it's all too easy to imagine acting on my impulses.  Pulling her close enough to feel how fast my heart beats for her, only to bend down until we were face to face, leaning in, and then…

"Roger?"  My hands shoot from behind my head and my legs straighten until my height brings me far away from her, enough that my daydream of closeness is out of my head. "What are you doing in the middle of the stairs?"  

Even as my previous thoughts are crashing down, they rise to my face and I can't help but redden as she looks into me.  And I wonder how long she's been there and if maybe my mixed signals are being correctly interpreted.

"Are you not feeling well Roger Smith?  Your face is red and you have been sitting on the stairs looking hurt."  She asks in the absence of my reply.  I find that rather than seeing her as she is, I can only think of her past unmaskings.  When her hair seemed aglow and her minute smile radiated nothing but warmth.

"I…  I'm fine Dorothy.  I was just coming to look for you."

"Oh."  Unexpectedly she seems disappointed that I have missed her in the few minutes that she was gone.  "Is there something I can do for you, then?" 

…she ducks away…

"Will you tell me what exactly you meant earlier, when you said that I've been hiding my feelings?"  I needed to hear it from her; else my subconscious would never rest on the subject.

"I meant nothing by it.  Please don't waste any more of your time on it."  Only Dorothy could say such a thing without sounding any more rejected than before.  Then she quickly turned away as if she had no need to go up the stairs I'm blocking.  

"Wait!"  We both know she was lying when she said her words meant nothing.  But her failure to continue walking away showed that she didn't expect me to do anything about it.  

Taking a giant leap, I latched onto her arm, knowing it was only a gesture and if she wanted to she could rip my arm right off.  The contact was stirring and for a moment I couldn't remember anything but my daydreams.  It must have done something to her too because she hadn't yet thought of an excuse to get away.  I slowly pulled her into me, not wanting to break the spell, but unable to control the need for even more contact.

When it finally dawned on her how close we were, she should have yelled, should have slapped me, should have told me what a louse I am for doing this to her.  With the same unpredictable nature that somehow bothered me, she calmly walked out of my arms.  

…afraid of being loved as Dorothy Wayneright and not R. Dorothy…

What causes her to act like this?  Why isn't she telling me that I'm wrong?  Wrong for thinking these things, for wanting her…  Human or not, I've chosen her, hasn't she perceived that?  I haven't tried to get the attention of a woman since I met her and I don't even know if Dorothy could really be classified as female.  

Still she walks away without a word.  More torturous than if she had slapped me or yelled, she ignores me.  

…longing for that which she has refused herself…

Now more than ever, I want to follow her more fiercely, capture her arms, her body and hold her.  I think that she's playing with me, knowing how I look at her, how I'm hurt by this treatment.  I want to hear her feelings too, ask her about them, but I'm not as confident as she is.  I can't be sure that she feels anything for me.  Her eyes don't light up when she sees me and her face doesn't get red every time I'm found in a compromising position.  She doesn't relish the early morning when dreams, however fleeting still feel real to your senses.  Her voice never fails her while she talks to me.  How am I supposed to know, I want to know…

…her dreams…


	2. Understanding

UNDERSTANDING

            We're close, but too afraid to count the units.  I almost feel ashamed thinking about it, and too dizzy to breathe.  I can't hide any more than I can run away from her, that is, if I wanted to.  But here she stands, in this den of wolves, innocently unwarned and unaccustomed to the situation.  It's too much, even for someone a master of the game, a cheater of death and a strict businessman.  Everyone has his or her own weaknesses, but as long as it's Dorothy… it's okay.

~

            I wonder sometimes, "Does she hate me?"  Having hired me to protect her she also joined the household.  But had she known this would happen, that I would come to love her, might she have chosen to fade into obscurity after the case with Dorothy I?  Occasionally she seems to enjoy my company, but has our becoming closer in fact pushed her away?  I seriously hope not, for even when awake I dream of her.  I feel no small amount of guilt for not ending the confusion and telling her how I feel.  But if she left, things would never be the same.  I can't imagine my house without her in it somewhere.  The only thing that keeps me from becoming scared about the whole concept is that she doesn't really have anywhere else to go.  With both of her "parents" dead there isn't anyone else, besides Norman and I, whom she can trust.  

And despite her choice to ignore me and present me with her backside, something is telling me now might be the time to tell her.  I chase her around the corner, and across the room she is gazing at and not really seeing one of the many shelves.

"Don't run away from me."  I say weakly.  And Dorothy listens to my request but refuses to turn around as if she knows how distracting it would be.  "I know what you meant earlier and you're right.  I need to express my feelings more."  I have to somehow make up for your lack of humanity.  "But I think that there's something else you wanted to tell me."

Like a master chess player, she sees through my play at prompting a confession of some sort from her.  She sighs; weary of the game we've been playing for what seems like so long.  Dorothy confirms the stalemate and turns to face me, "Of course not, I am only a machine, incapable of hiding or feeling anything.  Talking to me would be a waste of your time."  She starts off and away again, in search of distance to put between us.  "I am sure Norman is around here somewhere."  

I know she's lying, but this time I'm not sure if she knows it herself.  How carefully she hides her feelings and emotions.  I may be burying them away, but I have at least acknowledged them.  I'm not quite certain whether the last comment was borne out of jealously of some sort, or a kind of depression gained in the conversation.  Even though I don't know what her feelings are, I should be considerate of them.

"That's not true at all!  You're not just a machine and I really do want to tell you, but I'm afraid that you wouldn't understand."  I go from practically yelling at her to loosely throwing the words over my shoulder at her as I realize that I _don't_ have any real reasons not to tell her.

"Of course I wouldn't…" She replies and I'm stuck at another dead end.  She definitely knows what I'm going through; not from personal experience though, merely from observation and a number of conversations with Norman does she know the _words_ for it. 

I lean against the wall adorned with the objects of her dusting and just watch as she tries to overlook my presence.  "Androids are so much more complicated than humans," I throw out, crossing my arms to think it over.

"That is only because you don't understand me.  In all these past months, I've been trying to understand humans, and now I know about you and why you're here right now.  On the other hand, your surveillance has yielded you nothing, for your part, we're almost as much strangers as when we met."  She says it like common knowledge, as something of printed fact.  Before she had even finished, I felt devastated, my mouth was open and my eyes were wide.  I can't believe she feels this way.  It's true that I don't know everything about her, but I, I couldn't call us strangers.

"Dorothy, is that really how you feel about me?  That I'm like a stranger to you?"  She can't possibly mean it…

We're close, but too afraid to count the units…  

"You don't think so Roger?  Are you even aware of how you feel about me?  Your feelings are unreasonable and unwarranted.  Based solely on things imprinted into your very existence."  

…I almost feel ashamed thinking about it, and too dizzy to breathe… 

The way that she takes it all in stride with no change in attitude is remarkable even for an android.

"So you think that this is all biological and has nothing to do with you personally?  That essentially you could be anyone?"  I, of course, know that isn't true at all, but now I question when and how she came to these conclusions.  Just because I don't know all sorts of trivial things like her actual birthday, or her favorite color or musical piece doesn't make us strangers.  Even not knowing her origin doesn't make us strangers to me.  I know more personal things, like how she seems to drift away when playing the piano and the way the color black reflects even in her mechanical eyes.  I know how much wind it takes for her hair to bother her, or when she enters the room just by the sound and feeling she emanates.  

"Yes.  This situation has been created by my female appearance and your natural response to it."

"That's preposterous and implies that I'm in love with every woman I know!"

"So you really believe that you are in love?"  In all my daydreams I'd never imagined such a tense and frightening way for my confession to come about.  I hadn't chosen my words carefully enough to leave myself an escape route from what I now realize does sound suspiciously like admittance.  

…I can't hide any more than I can run away from her, that is, if I wanted to…

"Well… I… am…" I couldn't help it.  Even if I just laid three flowers on my grave, I couldn't get any deeper.  "It's true that the way you look caught my attention first, but I feel really close to you.  I hate to bring her up, but if Dorothy Wayneright were to walk in here with the same features and likeness, I would choose you.  You have your own personality and your own unique way of doing things."

Her feet lifted, one after the other, trailing out of the room, but she looked at me in a way that asked for me to follow her; so I did.  It was frightening to be led down the halls of my own house that created a maze to her room.  I'd given Dorothy a room just so that she might have her own physical place of claim in the household.  What was she going to show me?  The possibilities seemed limitless, and their very being of limitless number made them horrifying.  The room was as it had been before she occupied it, save for a spot above the dresser.  There had been a mirror there before, and now there hung that portrait of Dorothy that I created myself.  It was a disproportionate mock of something I'd seen before that hadn't really resembled her until I blotted in the eyes.  I suddenly realized that the painting had disappeared in a quiet and Dorothy-like way.  Once I had finished it, the painting and all of the materials of its creation had simply vanished without a trace.  

"I kept it."  She said simply, drawing my attention away from the crude imitation.  "Do you remember when it was that I asked you to paint it?  After seeing the house of Mr. Wise, I thought that it would be ultimately ironic.  Seeing as the portrait above his fireplace was made out of Mr. Wise's love for his wife.  And whether or not you understood it at the time, you accepted.  I took it because I realized after you had finished, that I did not want you to have it.  I now know that I was wrong to ask you to do that.  I didn't want you to have something that would remind you of me.  Especially when I think of the look in Mr. Wise's eyes.  And I didn't want to think of Paradigm City's top negotiator as some sentimentalist who could fall in love simply because he had no past with the person like Mr. Wise did.  So now Roger, I ask you, what is love?"

…But here she stands, in this den of wolves, innocently unwarned and uneducated to the situation…  

"Dorothy, it's not the same for everybody, it—" I raise my hands to convey the space between them as similar to my loss for words, but I'm interrupted with no concern for how hard this is.

…It's too much, even for someone a master of the game, a cheater of death and a strict businessman… 

"For you…"

She could see my hesitation.  "It's not really something you can explain, it's this feeling that makes me want to be near you, and think and worry about you.  And I want to protect you, not just because you asked me to."

"But you know that I am not made for you in any way.  I am not human and I am not like you at all.  I was created to nurture the memories of an old man."

"But you're still here Dorothy!  He's not and you are!  If that was your entire purpose in life, then there would have been no point to your existence past his!"  After I'd said it, I kind of regretted it.  I'm not sure it needed to be said, or who benefited from it.  But the way she stood there, unblinking, completely frozen, gripped me.  She looked no different than any other time, but it really hurt me, the way it should have hurt her, and I looked away.

…Everyone has his or her own weaknesses… 

"Is there a point to this?  Some reason to want life after my creator's, and my purpose is gone?"

"You should want to live, because there is less point in death."

"It is normal for living things to want to continue their survival.  It is wholly natural for them to live past their predecessors.  I think that you are forgetting at will that I only resemble a human."

"I'm sure you wouldn't let me forget in a million years.  But just because you're an android doesn't mean that I'm going to give up or treat you like a machine.  Why is it that you can't accept my feelings?"

"Because you won't be happy with me, just like he wasn't.  Father created me to fill an almost similar gap in his life to the one that you feel.  He was happy on the surface, but he really knew all the limitations of my being and that it would never be the same as it was with his real daughter.  So, I am sure that you would be happier with a real person."

I quickly wrapped my arms around her, haphazardly at first, only to quiet her.  Soon my arms locked and my head dropped down to hers.  She was still standing there, as unmovable as ever, looking at me, knowing that what I said next would be irrevocable.  "Funny, I've never felt this way about a 'real person'."

…but as long as it's Dorothy… 

The tiny pads of her fingers stretched across my back as she gave in to the small gesture.

…it's okay…


	3. Unceasing

UNCEASING

Could I have stopped it if I wanted to?  Wasn't there some way to keep this wave and rush of feelings at bay?  Should I abandon my emotions like a sinking ship and treat Dorothy as though she were no more than a talking appliance?  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, to be more of a father figure towards her like Norman.  But then she awakens a different kind of soul in me that won't let her out of my sight or mind.

~

While I knew that our moment together in Dorothy's obscurely hidden room would not be interrupted, it had to end.  Maybe it was pity, holding me, wrapping her arms around me.  And maybe it was lust, holding her, pressing us together.  It was definitely heaven standing there, wanting more, but content with what I was given.  Of course, if Dorothy had given herself to me, she would have said so in concise, unquestionable words.  Body language and gestures, the most human languages, were her ways of humoring me.  

In any case, I had the feeling that she was getting restless, if such was possible for an android.  After all, she may have all the time in the world.  Yet my hands slid to her lower back and broke away.  I reached for her arms and slid to her hands, cradling them between us. 

"Even if you think you have all the answers right now, I would like it if you would spend some time thinking about my feelings and yours."

Her head tilted at a questioning angle, "You mean to say that my initial answer was not to your liking?"

"I'm sure you've thought a lot about this, but it doesn't seem like you've understood the depths of my feelings or even factored your own in at all."  There was no reason to sound desperate, but I didn't want our conversation to dissipate so soon and with so little progress.  Her head sunk back down to look at our hands.

"I should ask Norman for advice."  She said, confirming my suspicion that my unwed, meddling butler was counseling her.

"Ahem," I made a coughing sort of sound, "Norman's done enough matchmaking since your arrival to last a decade.  Just think about things and if you have a question, then ask me."  Embarrassing myself is likely to be less detrimental to the situation than keeping Norman informed.

"Why do you love me?"  She asked, looking back up at me, straightforward this time. 

Could I have stopped it if I wanted to…

"That was fast…" She _has_ thought a lot about this, and I would really rather she didn't go and ask Norman why I love her, "Because you're exactly what I want and need."  I said, smiling affectionately at her.

"Even if you're not being serious you could be more specific."  Not at all used to a charming side of myself, she took it sarcastically.

"Don't worry about it, you're perfect."  I said, waving it off.  "Off of the subject, what do you want to do once you've paid for the negotiation services?  You never put a time limit on how long you _wanted_ me to protect you."

"I do not know what I would do after repaying my debt to you.  Though I am sure that there is no longer a threat to protect me from."  Dorothy reasoned.

Very literally, in terms of time, I told her, "Well, stay here for as long as you want to."

With that, I left the room in no particular direction, really just wandering around, in case it would help me think.

…Wasn't there some way to keep this wave and rush of feelings at bay…

As much as I feel sorry for myself, I feel sorry for Dorothy.  I've had my share of "romantic" experiences and I'm familiar with the idea.  Dorothy, while very well programmed as far as I can tell, probably hasn't even been operating for half of a year.  As long as the citizens of Paradigm City continue in their quest for knowledge Dorothy will operate for an unpredictable number of years after I'm gone.  But being around me is making her grow up fast, I can tell, I'm just not sure if it's a good thing or not.  And since it really doesn't suit me to be so love struck I'll spare her and try to go about my business as usual.  

…Should I abandon my emotions like a sinking ship and treat Dorothy as though she were no more than a talking appliance…

Maybe I don't feel sorry for myself exactly, ashamed rather.  It seems so perverse to be lusting after her.  I know that in a sense she isn't real.  I've seen what she looks like completely stripped down and should be left with no fantasies to entertain.  She looks like a series of shells linked together, holding wires and gears as if they were pearls destined to never see the light.  But that's not what I think when I see her whole, moving around; I think of her as a kind of super human, rather than a super machine.  Still, she isn't, although I do confuse the two occasionally, when she performs some feat of balance, achieves heart in her playing or has an insight that she could have overlooked.  But she shouldn't be affecting me this way.

Angel stopped by yesterday, in one of her lonely secretary outfits, wanting to tell me about the continued existence of Schwarzwald and a project that may in the future require my help.  She was as charming as ever and once she left me to my office, I found myself thinking over the possibilities of meeting her in a less formal setting.  And as though they were analogous Angel slowly turned into Dorothy, who had interrupted our meeting shortly for coffee.  Angel and I were sitting on facing couches when Dorothy leaned over with her tray to serve us both.  From my position I could perfectly see all of her curves despite the bland form of her dress.  While Dorothy is not as well endowed as Angel, she replaced her with ease in my mind and I soon found myself out of breath.

~

This morning I found it's hard to keep up this indifference; I don't know how she does it.  Now that she knows, I keep looking.  Like suddenly she'll be endowed with human emotions and understand why I keep looking.  I wonder if I'm making her nervous, even if I am, misery loves company.  I decided to act normal, but now I wonder about that too.  How "normal" was I acting before that nerve wrecking night?  I look again, if only for a moment. 

How subtle was I when complimenting her so much in our first meeting, flirting through meals and asking after her between cases and outings?  How much of me, Roger Smith, really was distant and aloof even to the other residents of the mansion?  Another quick glance is awarded while she is still sipping her tea, thinking who knows what.  

I don't know if I'm obsessing over an insignificant piece of the puzzle, but that night Beck controlled Dorothy still bothers me, not just what she said or did either.  Why did Beck do it?  While Dorothy doesn't exactly embody ferocity, it's true she could have hampered his plans to kill me.  But even so, why use her to do it?  Why not just summon the "Beck Victory Deluxe" to squash us like he eventually tried to?  Why bother with her software when he could have shot me?  Why was that devastating scene better to Beck?  Does even Beck really realize what Dorothy means to me?  Then, was I _ever_ acting as though she was no more than a client paying through house cleaning?  But Dorothy doesn't act like a housemaid either.  She sits with me at meals even though Norman doesn't.  Just like now, and I look to see that she is communicating to him without words and they share a slight smile as he pours her a little more tea.  

…Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be more of a father figure towards her like Norman…

Dorothy comes with me on cases occasionally and sometimes just sits with me to talk on the balcony.  She is no ordinary housemaid.  If we all have a part to play and are destined to play that part, there is nothing to say we can't play it poorly I suppose.  And even though I long to return to the tension that was my unspilled heart, I can't.  I must find some way to return normalcy to my life.

"Roger, are you going to let your breakfast get cold even after I woke you up?"

"You know you enjoy playing the piano whether it wakes me up or not, so what's with the attitude?"

"I don't think it's productive to spend breakfast staring at me when you should be eating."

So I've been caught.  "I was just wondering if you'd given any thought to what I said last night."  I told her, keeping it vague.  I just hope she takes a cue from me for once and either says nothing or is tight lipped about it.

"If you mean, have I come to a conclusion as to how I feel about you given that you love me, then no."

"R. Dorothy Wayneright!"  Damn it!  What did I do to deserve this embarrassment?  Not that I think Norman would use the information against me exactly.  But I know this is like his secret wish, to have the two of us talk openly about our precarious relationship.  I should have stayed in bed despite the concerto and to spite the android across the table who mocks me.  She may not have many emotions or know how they affect people, but she's not stupid.  She knows that our conversations about love and other emotions are private, and _not_ open discussions.  

I can see Norman's smile even though I am not facing him and I have a terrible urge to flee the scene.  

…But then she awakens a different kind of soul in me that won't let her out of my sight or mind…

"Norman, there are some repairs to the Big O that you said you needed help with, correct?"  Dorothy questions to the surprise of Norman and I.

"Quite right." Norman says, scuttling into the kitchen to clean it up first.

Dorothy follows with her teacup and I am momentarily worried that they are in a hurry only to talk behind my back about what a mess I've become.  But when she is directly at my side, Dorothy looks in my direction and I know that she wouldn't.


	4. Unaffected

UNAFFECTED

Love is compared to many things, how many of them good, how many of them bad?  How is it possible?  What is the difference between love and hate?  Wouldn't we all be happier in the middle ground between love and hate, where no one gets hurt?  But if you are willing to face the pain, love me.

~

I am not affected by small words or doings.  Not modified by the necessity to wear black clothes.  Not changed by Roger.  Though I can be replaced, repaired and am not alive, it seems natural for me to exist somehow.  All of my doings are sincere to myself and have led me here.  But I am genuinely altered, perplexed, by my surroundings.  Am I unabashedly perfect, or perfectly naïve?

Oliver loves Laura because she's easy to fool.

Mr. Wise loved Mary because she was there for him.

Father loved me because his memories told him to.

Roger loves me because I'm perfect.

If there is no standard, how am I to know if I love Roger?  Father loved me, but it is clearly not the same as how Roger feels.  How does Roger know that he loves me?  What makes him so sure, why is he so stubborn about it?  He insists that I have not figured my own feelings or the intensity of his, into my statements.  So…  what are my feelings?

I wasn't quite present through that whole night, when Beck tried to use me to kill Roger.  I was being forced along by a disc, which acted off my operating system, and in turn, left records of its actions.  So I know what happened.  However, between actions 128 and 139, and after 157, the disc wasn't running properly and left no entries in that section of the log.  Yet I was not in control during these times.  In addition, my memory circuits do not have enough command to override a disc and a remote.  Unfortunately, because of the break down, I don't know what happened.  However, it would be foolish to wish for that knowledge, I would have killed Roger if not for the malfunction.

I feared the proto-MegaDues.  I felt compassion and sympathy for Pero.  I felt angry at the time of my father's death.  What was it I felt underground, seeing Roger curled at the bottom of the ladder, shaking?  What were those feelings as I picked him off the ground to settle his head in my lap?  Are they cheapened by the fact that everything within me is manufactured?

Why not?  My piano playing is downgraded by the fact that it is programmed.  I am used as merely a part of a larger MegaDeus.  I am only a tool and though humans are surprised and amazed by my outward likeness to them, I am quickly owed nothing more than their disdain or pity.  My entire worth is less because I am an android.

So then, what does Roger see that is so different?  His eyes are strange, the way they shift, the way they stare at me.  

"What am I doing here?"  I mumble to myself, standing on the roof again, amongst the rows of pillars that, like me, have lost their purpose.  "I should be…"

I should be what?  What am I supposed to be doing?  Father did not know how I operated, but surely he knew why.  And took the information to his grave.  I am fairly certain I was not made so that I could be at the Smith Mansion pondering love.  And it was not to love Roger Smith.

I am supposed to be out here thinking about my feelings and I am making no progress.  These feelings of love are obviously too complicated to have been programmed into me.  And Roger has yet to explain clearly why he loves me.  He proclaims himself to be the best negotiator, but he has not yet won a deal with me.  

It feels like he does not see me.  Roger cannot see that I do not belong here.  The only other android I know is Instro and although he had doubts over his true purpose, he had something to return to.  People appreciated his music and it did not matter that there was an R. before his name.  As far as I can see my purpose is gone, died at the shaky hands of some goon.  I do not have anything or anyone to turn to.

Roger Smith does not know who I am.  Does not know what I was programmed for.  Does not realize that I am not human and cannot just change occupation and residence, believing that afterward everything will be different.  I will look like this, like her, forever.  Not long ago, I was little more than a doll and now I am supposed to be human.  I suppose that part of this mentality, that I am human, is because they are the only things inhabiting this city, save for a few animals, a couple of androids and slowly disappearing MegaDeuses.

What am I to do with my freedom?  People live to be happy, work towards that ideal.  Will I ever be happy; is it even possible for an android to be happy?  If I was glad to have met Pero, does that mean I was happy?  Do I make Roger happy?  I will ask him.

Love is compared to many things, how many of them good, how many of them bad…

Wandering through the building, I approach him sitting on a couch a few feet from his desk, where hourglasses have been recently turned and still expel that quiet, soothing sound, "Roger, do I make you happy?"

"Of course you do."  He says from his position, lying on the couch with his feet on the armrests, staring at the ceiling. 

"Why is that?"  I ask.

…How is it possible…

"Well, I like seeing you around."  He replies while paying little attention to my spot near his precious desk, keeping his eyes fixed on what is above him.

"Then, it wouldn't matter if I hated you?"  I counter, trying to make it seem casual by visually inspecting the articles on his desk.

…What is the difference between love and hate…

"I suppose not…  But it would make me happy if you liked me back."  Roger chimes, tilting his head to see me upside-down while a smile sinks into his face.

"If you were happy with my merely being here, why did you bother asking my feelings?  Why did you tell me yours when normally they are more heavily guarded than the Big O?"  I turn towards him, to let him know I'm serious even in my questionable observation of Roger's priorities.

…Wouldn't we all be happier in the middle ground between love and hate…

Roger swings his feet to their proper place on the floor, and asks as though it would be possible for me to forget something, "You're the one who asked me remember?  Telling me that I wasn't paying enough attention to my emotions."

"That was because you were questioning my emotions, or lack of them in your irritation."  I recall the incident that started it all.

"That's only because you told me you loved me!"  Roger blurts out; standing up so quickly that it jars a piece of hair out of line from the rest of it.

"What?" I wonder if he has mistaken me for someone else or for a dream.

"Well…" Roger is rarely in so horrible a position as to stall with a one-syllable word, and although the situation also troubles myself, I take pleasure in the occurrence.

"What are you talking about?" I step towards him and he only looks downward.  When he has not said anything for a moment more, I prod him, "Roger Smith."

"When Beck used you to try to kill me, you said that you loved me."  He says calmly but avoids my eyes.

"I did?"

"Yes."  He says firmly, but the words are not aimed at me so much as the floor.  

…where no one gets hurt…

"Do you realize that even though there are both negative and positive emotions, with negative possibly even outnumbering the positive, when people use the word emotion as a feeling, it is generally positive."

"When you asked me if memory loss could lead to love, you weren't really talking about Mr. Wise, were you?"  He picks up the conversation from elsewhere, attempting to gain some ground.  

"I was asking a general question about love."  I said truthfully, only the second question was directly aimed at him.  But if he is confident in his ability to answer my questions, I will give him a third along those lines,  "But, if you fell in love and always kept your memories, would it be possible for you to fall in love again, with someone else?"

…If you are willing…

"I guess so, I just would never forget that first person.  Humans don't have the same capacity for memories as you do, but a part of us never forgets people."  He finally has the courage to look at me again and boldly asks, "Are you afraid to fall in love because you might be lonely when that person dies?"  

…to face the pain…

Maybe he's not so ignorant about me after all, "That's sweet."  He tells me.

Instantly, that respect he won was lost again, "That was not very kind."

"I'm sorry, it's a legitimate concern, but I know you won't be lonely."  He's back to smiling and comes closer to me, "You'll just storm up to some other guy and completely invade his life, in the nicest way possible."

"If I had never come here, would you be in love with Angel?"  I ask, avoiding the possibility that he might be or might have been in love with her anyway.

"No, and I think our coming together was inevitable.  I still would have saved you from the controls of Dorothy I and upon seeing you, Norman would have insisted you stay."

"What about you?"

"All that really matters is now.  And now, I am glad to have you here.  It doesn't matter what you used to do or what you're supposed to do.  And even if you don't understand yourself, try to be happy."  Roger said, putting on his overcoat as one by one his hourglasses run out of sand.  It must be time for him to leave again.

"Roger…" I said, seizing his attention.

"Yes, Dorothy?"  He asks, putting on his gloves.

"Even if I never understand, or have emotions, will you always…"

…love me…  

We have stopped.  I can't say the next words, his left glove is half on, and his last hourglass has run out.

"Never mind."


End file.
